


Window

by Jamjar88



Category: Mother Love Bone, Pearl Jam
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:35:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26462020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jamjar88/pseuds/Jamjar88
Summary: From a prompt on the drabble challenge on Tumblr.
Relationships: Stone Gossard/Andrew Wood
Kudos: 9





	Window

When we were looking for a singer, I wouldn’t even consider anyone blonde, anyone who dressed loud, or laughed like he did. So we passed that tape around for a while. 

I used to see him everywhere - at the grocery store, at a stoplight. And I hated how everyone wanted to tell me how fucking sorry they were all the time. It was always “Stone and Andy” so people acted like I must be drowning now. I was, and I wasn’t. I played my guitar, I went to the funeral. I stopped talking to Jeff, took calls from the label. I played my guitar.

I tried never to think about that night in Sausalito. The last night we ever shared a room. There was a cold breeze coming in off the ocean but we couldn’t close the window in the shitty motel room and I kept waking up, could hear him tossing and turning in the next bed, he was forever cold. He always said he couldn’t wait to move to LA and live on the beach.

“Trying to sleep, man,” I said.

“It’s COLD.”

“It’ll make you stronger.”

“Shoulda roomed with Bruce, he likes to cuddle.”

I smiled in the darkness. “Not gonna happen.”

“He’s comfortable with his sexuality.”

“I’m definitely not. Get to sleep.”

A long pause, and I closed my eyes, then he said it:

“I had a bad dream again.”

I didn’t know what to reply. I was tired, jaded. And I didn’t want to say the wrong thing.

“It’s nothing, dude. It’s just the record. Or maybe you should, I don’t know, lay off the burritos.” Stupid jokes. “We’re almost done.”

“Not like... about the record.”

“You’re OK.”

“I dreamed I died.”

Silence, and the sound of creaking pipes, the faint rush of the waves outside the window. This jag of panic in my chest.

“It’s just… a dream.”

I think about this a lot. I think about it too much.

“I don’t wanna die, man.” His voice broke suddenly, and I looked over. My eyes weren’t perfect even back then. but I could see his shape in the bed, hunched on one side, facing me. We were never serious. He was the sunniest person any of us knew. Even when he was trying to fuck with us about his addiction, hide things, lie - he did it with a smile. You never saw him break. “I really don’t wanna die.”

“Just... quit.” I said. 

To me, it was that simple. It was that black and white. _Just quit._ I heard him exhale in the darkness. 

“I did.”

“Then keep quitting.” I knew it sounded stupid, didn’t it? _Did_ it? 

He didn’t reply. I heard a rustle of blankets as he sat up, got off the bed suddenly. He went to the window, pulled back the old drapes and started messing with the catch, trying to jerk it down. “This _fucking_ thing,” he muttered, and I pulled myself out of bed, tried to help figure it out. In the light coming from the parking lot outside he looked so exhausted. When his hand brushed against mine, it was kind of shaking. Honestly I didn’t know if that was fear, or like, withdrawal. I was young, and I didn’t know.

There was a jolt as the stuck catch gave way and we pulled the window down, I pulled my fingers out of the way just in time before it came down on them and went, _“Jesus!”_ and he laughed, like everything was fine. “I need to get these insured or something,” I said, and it made him laugh again, which - the best way I can describe it - it filled me up.

“Tomorrow, we’ll have made a record,” he said then - kind of wonderingly.

“This time next year, we’re gonna be in a hotel room with fucking windows that close.”

“We’re gonna be like, having baths in Cristal.”

“Threesomes every night.”

“Yeah, you Bruce and Greg, in the bath with the Cristal.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Laughing.

“Just, licking it off Greg’s, like, bald head.”

“I’m going to sleep now.” I threw myself back in bed, pulled the covers over me. 

I sensed him standing still there for a while, by the window. Looking out silently. I don’t know if I should have said anything else. Like I said - I think about this a lot. 

The next day we wrapped the record and drove all the way back to Seattle. At a rest stop he disappeared for a long time and I kind of knew, but like always, no one talked about it. He had a lot of secrets.

When we found Eddie I did, I guess, resent him for not being Andy; but I knew he was the right guy. He didn’t remind me of anyone, it didn’t feel like there was a ghost on stage with us. Maybe that’s the best you can ask for, when you’re 24 and trying to be a rock-star, while burying your best friend. Play your guitar and keep going. Let it be new. Don’t drown.


End file.
